


Setsugetsuka

by anotherfirename



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Developing Friendships, F/M, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Poetry and Prose, Reader-Insert, Romance, Setsugetsuka AU, and fated meetings and destined love, but it would take forever if i actually tagged them all, everyone is friends with everyone even if it takes some people more times than others, i wrote so much poetry for this please send help, i've got you covered, if you're looking for soft friendships, there are more platonic relationships than what i've tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfirename/pseuds/anotherfirename
Summary: A fateful winter night brings fourteen lives together, and the future begins to unfold in ways that no one expected.First person Reader/Tokiya story that takes place in an AU based on the Setsugetsuka set in Shining Live.





	1. Chapter 1

_Home sent me away_  
_And yet I found friendship here_  
_This place becomes dear_

_A foretold meeting_  
_Connections that become fate_  
_We face tomorrow_

Winter is rapidly approaching its end and the mountains are starting to green once more, but the season’s chill is still felt in the tips of my fingers and in the bite of the wind around me.

I stand on the rooftop where I am free from the sanctuary of walls and still barren fruit trees. The wind tangles in my hair and my clothes swirl about me like a flower trying to bloom.

“Winter warms to spring.  
The birds all turn to fly north.  
In this, I find peace.”

I shift to find better footing on the curved roof. This is easier now that the snow has melted into rivers and ponds, and I confess I almost met my end when the half-melted snow froze once more.  


“A song will soon bloom.  
Today may be destiny.  
From sleep, the world wakes.”  


My dreams aren’t just dreams, they are memories of the future. And here in the waking world the more I see the more the half-remembered visions start to make sense. The details are always hazy at best, but in my heart I can sense a memory approaching.

“At least she’s easy to find,” a voice calls out, deliberately loud enough for me to hear over the wind.

I look down and see Haruka and Tomo standing in the courtyard below. Tomo looks more amused than surprised, one hand on her hip and a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Next to her Haruka is anxious on my behalf, her hands worrying at the hem of her sleeves and her eyes wide as she stares up at me.

“Please be careful!” Haruka calls up to me, her hands cupped around her mouth to make her soft voice louder.

I raise a hand in acknowledgement, though neither seem reassured.

They are my roommates and, more recently, my dearest friends. We came to this school for different reasons and will leave with different purposes, but in the time we spend here those differences don’t matter and we are allowed to believe in an idyllic eternity. There is a day that will be our last, so dictates the turning of the seasons, and I may never see them again. I hope that our friendship will persist beyond our time together, but even I can’t see that far into the future.

“You should come down before you freeze,” Tomo calls up again, and I just shrug.

I’ve done this in far worse weather both here and back home among terraces carved into the landscape. And my friends, precious though they are, have no more say than I do about when I stand up high and spin words for nothing. Besides, there is something coming from over the horizon.

Our school sits nestled within a valley at the base of a mountain and facing its twin. The two schools were built to mirror each other with a river running between them. The river flows downwards from the mountain as it winds through the labyrinthine city above. On a clear day I can see across the river and look upon that mirror world, though I have never glimpsed the people within it.

Today, however, that other world has decided to be more than just an image almost constantly shrouded in fog. A cluster of people make their way over the river’s bridge. Some race ahead while others trail behind, but in time all make their way to our side of the riverbank.

At this distance it’s difficult to make them out, but I remember eleven guests from last night’s dream.

Words build in my chest. Poetry bleeds into prose, and the boundary between them blurs as I abandon any semblance of structure and rhyme.

“Strangers come strangely to a stranger land to be greeted by a strange bird in an equally strange fashion.”

Though I can see the future it’s only ever in pieces, and the pieces don’t fit together just yet. I remember something important now, and from that memory I realize that this is barely the beginning.

“Haruka,” I call down. “I think we’ve met some of them.”

“That verse wasn’t very good,” Tomo teases, and I roll my eyes.

Eleven newcomers approach, their eyes on me as they pass through the gate. That’s to be expected. When perched on a rooftop it’s rare that I don’t attract attention even from those who have seen me do this before.

I stare back, and now that they’re close enough for me to make out their faces I am absolutely certain that some of them I’ve met before.

“Lanterns play at starlight while music cries jubilation. Meetings turn reunions in unexpected ways. Beginnings or continuations, perhaps the night will tell me more.”

They are a pack of eleven trapped in the transition between boys and men, just as my two friends and I find ourselves in the transition between girls and women. I crouch low for balance, arms rested on my knees as I watch our guests finally round the corner into the courtyard where Haruka and Tomo stand.

There is confusion at first but then finally recognition. Stories and explanations follow soon after, and they’re accompanied by laughter and smiles.

“You done?” Tomo asks as she looks up at me.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”

I follow the gentle curves of the tiered rooftops downwards, and the ornate decorations serve a second purpose as footholds and handholds to aid my descent. While our teachers reprimand and punish me every time they catch me perched up high or climbing out a window on my way upwards, there is little they can do now that I no longer need a ladder.

When my feet touch the ground once more I join the flurry of conversation and laughter. In the absence of names our visitors blur together into a rainbow of colours until introductions are made and I begin to put names to faces and words.

“I didn’t expect the students here to be so lacking in discipline,” Camus says, his voice bringing a new chill to the winter air.

“That’s just me,” I say. “Don’t judge my friends for the association. They’re good people. They put up with me after all.”

Camus fixes me with a haughty glare that would be more intimidating if I hadn't already glimpsed the future. He gives off the impression of being determined not to like us. This begs the question of why he’s here in the first place then, as he doesn't strike me as someone who would be so easily persuaded into doing something he adamantly doesn't want to do.

“At least let her do introductions,” Tomo says to Camus, saving me from the icy staredown.

Camus doesn't reply exactly, but I take his curt “hmph” as permission to do as I please.

Tomo nods to me, encouraging me to wordsmith in a rare endorsement on her part. And Haruka, who is shy and already overwhelmed by the attention of so many boys, is more than happy to let someone else do the talking.

I need a moment to find more words, and now that I have everyone's attention they all wait with baited breath.

“Allow me to introduce Haruka, a brilliant composer with big dreams and an even bigger heart. The warmth of her kindness rivals spring's first sunny day. Allow me to introduce Tomo, performer extraordinaire with both spirit and sense to share. She is a star gracing us from the heavens. And as for myself, I think I've said enough already.”

My last line is accompanied with a bow and a wink. Stage presence, according to Tomo. She's always saying that I should practice it more.

Some applaud enthusiastically and others are more confused, but all of them are curious. It's enough to create an opening though, and more words are quick to follow.

Conversations flow back and forth with ease as though we have already been friends for years. With such a large group we end up splitting and regrouping and rearranging but with a surprisingly natural flow. I find myself flitting from conversation to conversation as I attempt to meet them all.

In my mind I'm already writing something, but I don't know how it's going to end yet.

“You could have easily fallen off,” Tokiya says to me, and for emphasis he glances up at where I was standing earlier. “You shouldn't be so reckless.”

“It's a compulsion of mine,” I confess. “If I had any say in it I would be back among the rice terraces instead of here.”

“Rice terraces?”

I nod and hold out my hands, palms facing upwards so he can see how weathered and worn they are from years of labour.

“My uncle is high-ranking military,” I explain, answering the unsaid question of how I made my way here. “There was some nepotism involved.”

Tokiya holds out his hands in response. Unlike mine, his hands are unblemished save for a faded smudge of ink on his right thumb.

“Perhaps it's for the better that you're here,” Tokiya muses. “You're lucky to receive such a good education. It's hard to believe you didn't come here by choice.”

“I think it is better than I'm here,” I say. “I love the library and my friends are precious to me. Home is home, but I don't think we ever suited each other.”

Tokiya nods but I don’t yet know him well enough to say if it’s from agreement or understanding.

Conversations continue back and forth, and I remain flitting between them, until all at once they find a lull.

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” I ask in the sudden silence. “I made bento boxes earlier. I promise they're edible.”

“We appreciate the offer,” Masato says, “but we wouldn't want to impose. There are far more of us than you expected after all.”

“You’d be surprised. But you can help me carry everything if you want.”

Without another word I turn and walk towards the kitchens. Tomo sighs and shakes her head, but she and Haruka both know what this means by now. They keep pace behind me and the boys trail along with varying degrees of interest and confusion.

“She can see the future,” Tomo explains shortly, which only adds to both the interest and the confusion. “But she usually keeps what she sees to herself.”

“I used up most of my metaphors on the roof,” I say without turning around, “but it’s more complicated than that. I knew that I should prepare fourteen lunches, so I prepared fourteen lunches.”

There are questions that are unasked and thus unanswered. This is a constant pattern in my life. The recurring theme and echoed line. Eventually they might ask, but until then I won’t volunteer anything they don’t want to know.

At the kitchens we pick up the bento boxes that are stacked and stored off to the side so that they’re out of the way. For every meal communal food is set out and we’re free to help ourselves as we please, but we’re encouraged to cook for ourselves when we find the time.

“So this is where you were this morning,” Tomo remarks. “Haruka and I thought you were on the roof again.”

“That wasn’t until later,” I say lightly.

“You made all this?” Masato wonders aloud as he stares at the stacks of boxes. “Ah. Do you mind if I prepare something too?”

“By all means.”

Masato requires little assistance save for finding everything he needs. We watch entranced as he deftly chops and combines ingredients with artful grace and efficiency. He moves with a rhythm not easily captured in words, and beside me Haruka is already humming a new melody to match it.

A steaming pot of miso soup is assembled before our eyes, and Haruka has the honour of taste testing Masato’s creation. She does so daintily, steam curling off the spoon as she blows gently to cool it down. When she finally takes the plunge her face immediately lights up with delight, and that alone tells me everything.

“This is delicious!” Haruka exclaims happily, and Masato’s ears turn pink from her praise.

“Thank you,” Masato says, and he just barely manages not to stammer.

With the extra help we carry everything up the hill to where a spacious pavilion and surrounding trees shelter us from the wind. I watch a songbird flit across the arches that outline the pavilion’s curved roof. The world is finally warming. It will be spring soon.

The lingering winter chill doesn’t bother us as we sit close together and fill our bellies with good food and hot soup. The conversation flits from subject to subject like the songbird that now calls to its brethren.

Our thoughts turn from school to what comes after. It quickly becomes apparent that there are stars in our midst with dreams that shine so brightly they’re almost blinding. The things that brought them to this valley drive them still, and they live each day with a purpose I can’t help but envy. My only solace is that I’m not alone.

“I’m going to find a mountain and become a hermit poet,” I say when it comes to my turn. “People will come pay me a silver dollar to have their fortune read.”

“You cannot be serious,” Camus says as he fixes me with an icy judgemental stare.

“Like yours, our school provides the skills needed to pave a future for ourselves. But there’s only so much they can do for someone like me. That’s not important though. You’re all singers and musicians aren’t you? Haruka, do you have a song in mind yet?”

Haruka startles and stammers when she’s soloed out like this. She looks at me with wide eyes in a silent accusation of betrayal, but when the more outgoing of the boys clamour for more information she slowly eases into their attention with a happy blush.

Even shyer than I am, it was thanks to Tomo’s patient insistence that Haruka opened up to us. Haruka is more than happy to hide behind Tomo’s outgoing charisma and my idiosyncrasies, but when she has her music to lean on she finds her confidence and her voice. And I don’t need to see the future to know that she is already weaving a tapestry of music in her mind.

I do carry a secret from the future though. The vision is, as always, distant and blurred such that I’m barely certain of it at all but I do know this. Two people gathered here have met the love of their lives today. As for who those two people are, I’m left to guess. And I do guess, as I watch the way the boys look at Haruka and carefully don’t look at Haruka. They are enamoured, even if Haruka herself doesn’t seem to notice yet. I suspect that, as with many things, love is only a matter of time.


	2. Chapter 2

_The flowers return_  
_Company comes on wind’s wings_  
_Friendship quickly blooms._

_Songs begin to form_  
_Connections sought, then fostered_  
_There is hope for more._

As winter gives way to spring, free time becomes infinitely more precious than before. Time is stolen and hoarded in hopes of making it across the river. There are no rules to these meetings. We come and go whenever we can, some mornings chasing the sunrise and some nights sneaking back across the bridge after curfew. 

Rarely do any of us travel alone, but it does happen. I remember when I crossed alone for the first time. Ranmaru and I took a rowboat out on the pond where we drifted lazily until we both fell asleep under the warm spring sun. When we awoke we found that cherry blossom petals had gathered in our hair. 

Usually I’m the only one to know that anyone’s coming to visit, whether it’s because of my dreams or the vantage point standing on a roof offers. This morning I watched Otoya and Syo race each other across the bridge. They waved cheerfully when they saw me perched up on a roof like when we first met. After my compulsion passed I returned to earth and climbed the hill to join them and others under the ancient cherry tree. 

Haruka is at her peak today. Sitting beneath the blooming cherry blossoms she switches seamlessly from song to song, following an unseen current of inspiration and sound. Perhaps having so many strong personalities clamouring at once for music and attention isn’t ideal for the creative process, but Haruka thrives all the same. She smiles and laughs and sings. There is a concert in the making. 

“You’re as talented as you are beautiful,” Ren tells Haruka as he lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. 

Haruka stammers and blushes, almost turning the same colour as the cherry blossom petals in her hair. There is a light in Ren’s eyes. A desire to compliment her more now that he’s seen how she reacts. Ren releases her hand and slides a finger under her chin, tipping her head up and forcing her to look at him. Haruka’s eyes go wide and she stammers incoherently. 

“Hey,” Ranmaru snaps as he grabs Ren’s arm and drags him out of Haruka’s personal space. “Enough.” 

“What’s wrong with acknowledging beauty?” Ren asks with poorly feigned innocence. 

Ranmaru’s response is to drag him further down the hill until there is more of a buffer between him and Haruka. Ren laughs and Haruka, still blushing, blinks in confusion. 

“Sorry about Ren,” Otoya says to Haruka. “He’s just really excited about your songs. We all are!” 

Ren raises an eyebrow and his half-smile suggests he’s about to correct Otoya, but a stern look from Tomo makes him hold his tongue. 

“I’m excited too,” Haruka says with an earnest smile. “I can’t wait to hear everyone sing. Next time we can work inside with the piano.” 

“I can bring my guitar!” Otoya exclaims. “Can we work with that?” 

“Yes, of course!” 

I wonder if Otoya realizes that he’s been getting closer and closer to her as he’s talking. He’s almost as close as Ren was now, and wordlessly Ranmaru reaches up and pulls him back by his collar. 

“Don’t forget though,” Tomo says as she fixes each boy with a stern look, “that she was my composer first.” 

The conversation bubbles on into a mock competition to see who is most worthy of Haruka as their composer. Laughter turns into singing, and they are like songbirds each trying to make their voice heard above all the others. And yet, without their meaning to, their voices blend together in different ways as they leave and rejoin the song. Someone will sing then stop, and someone else will start to sing instead. Their voices twist together like partners in a dance, and I listen until my limbs start to ache from sitting for so long. 

“Going to stand on the roof?” Tomo teases when I stand up and stretch out. 

“Just stretching my legs,” I say. 

I move to sit in the shade where the air is nice and cool after sitting in the sun for so long. 

Sunlight streams down between the petals and branches, creating a pattern of dappled light on the grass. I hold out my arm and watch the light dance across my skin. 

Something rustles in the branches above me and I look up at the source of the sound. Syo moves from branch to branch with easy balance and grace. Training, he called it, for when the fruit start to ripen. 

He calls down an apology when petals shake loose and rain down around me. I laugh and wave to him as I brush a petal off my shoulder. 

“A rambunctious squirrel clambers through the branches in search of tomorrow’s fruit. I track his course by the petals raining down from above.” 

Syo laughs sheepishly, and I watch him course higher into the upper branches. He carries a restlessness about him that betrays more than just a desire to move. He seems to be driven out of idleness by more than just his dreams. 

“Have you always been a writer?” Tokiya asks from next to me where he watched the whole exchange. 

“In a way, I guess so,” I say. “I come from a small village, but my uncle is military and he grew to love literature when he left. He wanted to pass on this love, but he doesn’t have any children of his own. He couldn’t teach them how to read and write, so he taught me instead. But I was spinning words long before I knew how to write them down.” 

“I suppose ‘writer’ is an inadequate term then. Oral traditions don’t invalidate your gift with words.” 

I can’t help but laugh and Tokiya stares at me, perplexed. 

“No one has ever said I have a gift,” I explain. “I’m not someone you would call gifted.” 

“You recite beautifully and you can see the future,” Tokiya says. “How could you not call those gifts?” 

“I was sent here to be fixed. You’ve heard the stories about these schools’ reputations, I’m sure. My uncle convinced my parents that this place could perform a miracle, but so far it’s just made me a better poet. I try, I do try, but I can’t fix this.” 

I gesture vaguely to my heart where my instincts sit, and it’s all I can do. For all my words I still cannot explain why I see the future in my dreams or why I end up in high places reciting poetry and prose. With both I’m never even aware of what’s happening until I find myself in the middle of it. 

“For what it’s worth,” Tokiya says, and there is a gentleness in his voice that catches me off guard, “I enjoy your words.” 

“Thank you,” I say after a moment’s hesitation. “No one has ever said that either.” 

“That said, I would prefer it if you don’t climb so high up. I have concerns about your safety. Do you ever write with ink and paper?” 

“I do. For school and for leisure both.” 

I think of the journal sitting on my desk in the room I share with Haruka and Tomo. The journal was a gift from my roommates, and they hoped that a new outlet would keep me off the rooftops. It didn’t work of course, but I appreciate the gesture all the same and I continue to fill its pages with poetry and prose. 

“Would you like to read some of it?” I ask hesitantly when I start to form a guess about where this is going. 

“I would,” Tokiya confirms to my relief. “If you wouldn’t mind of course.” 

I hesitate. There is nothing particularly private or personal in my journal, but in it I am still vulnerable. I know that my thoughts and experiences and the way I see the world shape both what and how I write. When I speak my words only linger in the air and in imperfect memory, but once written my words are static and laid out to be seen as many times as the reader pleases. With Tokiya, who will talk for hours at length and in depth about the books he’s read if you let him, I fear what might come of this. 

There is a terror of being known that wars with a yearning to be understood. I don’t want Tokiya to dislike me even though being disliked has rarely bothered me before. There is something about this place and these people that is different from anything I have ever felt before. 

“I apologize for being too forward,” Tokiya says when my hesitation stretches into silence. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.” 

“It’s not that,” I say quickly even though that’s not entirely true. “You just caught me by surprise.” 

“Can’t you see the future?” 

“It doesn’t work like that. Can I...I have a journal. I write poetry and prose there. General things. Some rough drafts for assignments and things. But will you give me until the next time we meet to decide?” 

“Of course. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I’m just still getting used to the idea that someone might want to know what I have to say.” 

There is something about honesty that feels both warranted and accepted even as a polite lie sits in the back of my throat where it waits to save me. Except there is, I hope, some kind of understanding between us. For Tokiya doesn’t push me. Instead we sit and listen as Syo sings back and forth with Otoya from somewhere in the boughs of the cherry tree. 

I know that all I’ve done is bought some time, but perhaps between now and then I will see something that will help guide me.


	3. Chapter 3

_And we meet again_  
_I give in to being known_  
_These words are now shared_

_Bandits in the night_  
_Sneaking out to climb higher_  
_We could touch the moon_

There is a city that sprawls across the mountain behind the school. No matter the hour the city is alive, and in certain seasons during the school’s quiet nights I can hear music drifting down from the mountain. At night the city glows when the red lanterns are lit, drawing us in like moths to a flame. 

It’s always Tomo who decides that we’re going to sneak out after curfew. We are rarely allowed to visit the city and its shops and restaurants, but sneaking out is a time honoured tradition through generations of students on both sides of the river. 

Surrounded by the school’s high walls it’s easy to feel isolated, and this only adds to the allure of the sprawling city lights. Even I, who grew up in a small village that grows rice and little else, can’t resist the collision of people and culture that is as wondrous as it is overwhelming. 

From the roofs I often see the caravans of merchants making their way up the winding road to the city. Little news breaches the school’s walls, but all I have to do is tell Tomo what I saw and word about the night markets spreads like wildfire. The news even spreads across the river, and suddenly there is a liveliness that the teachers can’t control. 

I suspect that many of the students’ beds are empty tonight, judging from the hushed giggles and the rustling of fallen leaves on the ground. 

The walls are high and the single gate is locked, but rarely does that stop anyone. There is a plum tree that grows near the wall behind the kitchens. It’s just tall enough that you can climb over the wall from its upper branches. I climb first, being the better climber for obvious reasons, and once I’m high enough I tie a rope to its branches. Haruka and Tomo use the rope to aid their ascent. I move the rope, throw it over the wall. That both aids our descent and provides our way back. 

Once on the other side we run like birds freed from their cage, and we don’t stop until lantern light illuminates the stones beneath our feet. The city is full of life. Even at this late hour children laugh as they chase each other through the streets, their colourful paper kites trailing behind them. Musicians spin songs on every corner, and Tomo’s steps soon turn into a dance. 

Together we wander the winding streets, sampling different food and browsing the various stalls, until I remember the future. I am not much of a leader by nature, so when I insist on going down a particular street they know that the future is unfolding. Tomo is happy to accuse me of keeping secrets when we run into some of the boys in front of a stall selling paper kusudama. 

The boys greet us warmly except for Ai who is entranced by the kusudama that hangs from the string in his hand. The colourful paper construction spins slowly on its string. When it starts to slow he reaches up and gives it a gentle tap to set it spinning again. 

The kusudama is a perfectly symmetrical collision of geometry folded so finely that the angular points blur together to form softer edges. The paper shapes sewn together to form the kusudama alternate between white and lavender in a perfect pattern. 

“Is it compelling because of its highly symmetrical structure?” Ai wonders aloud. “Or is it due to a combination of factors? Colour, shape, and size perhaps. What is the optimal combination?” 

I reach out and gently pick up one of the kusudama from the stall. This one is much smaller and simpler. With fewer parts it forms a more angular shape, but in my opinion it’s no less beautiful. 

“You can make these,” I say as I put the kusudama back. 

“You can!” Natsuki agrees enthusiastically. “I used to make them with my parents every winter. I can teach you, if you like.” 

“Yes,” Ai says, still without taking his eyes off the spinning kusudama. “An experiment would be most effective.” 

Ai pays for a stack of colourful paper and the kusudama that enamoured him so much. It hangs from his hand and bobs on its string as we continue to explore the labyrinthine streets. 

With music in the air Tomo and the boys move like they’re dancing beneath the warm lantern light. We eat our way through the streets, splitting the treats among us until all our stomachs are full. 

The night isn’t over yet though. Reiji knows a pathway up to the roof of one of the city’s tallest buildings. Together we climb, helping each other up and balance until we’re all nestled in the curve of the grand roof. 

Even with the city lit up, the stars are still bright and the full moon shines like a spotlight upon us. I’ve heard about cities that shine so brightly they drown out the stars. I can barely imagine it. 

Next to me Natsuki stands up and reaches out to the moon as if he could embrace it. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says. “And I don’t know why, but whenever I look at the moon I feel at peace. It’s like saying hello to an old friend.” 

His expression is peaceful but distant. He is a world away from us in a place that no one else can understand. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of something behind his eyes beneath the kindness and warmth. Like a darkness lurking beneath the water’s surface. Someone calls Natsuki’s name and he returns to us. He sits down and smiles as though nothing happened, and collectively we all decide to leave it be. 

We sit and talk as Reiji passes around small porcelain cups followed by a bottle of sake bought in the market below. The sake is sweet with a faint taste of osmanthus, and it’s cool from being carried through the night. 

“To a good night and even better company,” Reiji says as he lifts his cup for a toast. “This is the life. It’s not good to work all day every day. You have to relax once in a while.” 

He looks pointedly at Tokiya who equally pointedly avoids making eye contact. Reiji laughs and we all raise our cups in a toast. 

“You have to know how to work hard and how to relax,” Tomo agrees. “Otherwise you just burn out.” 

“See?” Reiji says with an enthusiastic nod. “She understands.” 

“But Reiji,” Ai says, “your time spent on your studies is minimal at best.” 

“It’s a group effort, Ai-Ai. Someone needs to remind all of you to enjoy yourselves once in a while.” 

Whether it’s the sake or the company or a combination of the two, enjoyment is in abundance here. This night, held between the light of the lanterns below and the light of the moon above, is a form of magic and beauty that I will never forget. 

I stand up and the light catches my skin. The night air is cool but I feel warm. 

“Feeling poetic again?” Tomo teases. 

“This is different,” I say, “but I could be persuaded if someone trades me for a song.” 

“I would love to play,” Cecil volunteers as he rests a hand on the flute that is always at his side. 

“Deal.” 

I close my eyes and breathe in the night. The smells of the night market mix together into a tapestry of spices. Down below someone laughs and it carries all the way up to the stars. And here on the roof my friends, who are dearly precious to me and grow more precious with every passing day, wait patiently and silently for me to speak. There will never be another moment like this. 

“The moon bears witness.  
A promise spills from my lips.  
We will meet again.  
I beg the stars to guide me.  
For I cannot let you go.” 

Sometimes the most beautiful things are the truth. 

I open my eyes and am struck by the delight in my friends’ faces. I am not made for an audience despite my compulsions. I sit down quickly despite their applause and I hope that I can blame the alcohol for the fact that I’m almost certainly turning red. 

“Did you dream about us meeting again?” Cecil asks, and there is genuine curiosity glittering in his eyes. 

“That,” I say, “is a secret. As it always is. Now about that song?” 

Thankfully everyone’s attention shifts from me when Cecil stands and holds his flute to his lips. When he plays we hold our breath. 

Cecil is from a world away with a different language and culture and of course, different songs. When he plays it is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. The song is heavy with reverence and grace. It becomes a hymn for the moon and stars. And perhaps it’s just my imagination, but as he plays I swear the wind seems to stir and the autumn leaves swirl about him in a dance. 

When Cecil lowers his flute we applaud enthusiastically. He bows and sits as Reiji reaches out to pass back his sake cup. 

“We should perform together one day,” Tomo says to Cecil. “Since these two are too shy.” 

Tomo gestures to me and Haruka. Haruka blushes and averts her gaze while I decide to cope by reaching for another drink. 

“Shy?” Tokiya echoes as he looks at me. 

“A roof is fine apparently,” Tomo says, “but you can’t get her on a stage for anything. She even hates reciting in class.” 

“My compulsions are something else,” I say mostly into my cup. “Without them, I keep to myself. No one needs to know what I have to say.” 

Perhaps it’s just a trick of the moonlight, but I swear I catch a flicker of solemn understanding in Tokiya’s eyes. Does he know? Does he know what it meant when I lent him my journal to read? I don’t know, and I’m too terrified to ask. 

“They are my behind the scenes support,” Tomo says fondly, saving me from my anxious thoughts in the process. “But I’m not the same. I love performing for an audience.” 

The conversation shifts. The boys are, despite how diverse their backgrounds and goals are, all enamoured by the thought of being seen and known even across the ocean. There is something shining in their hearts that they are eager to share with the world. They keen for it, and it suits them. They shine, even now. I can’t control what I see of the future, and yet I know this all the same. As they grow, they will only shine brighter until they rival the stars.


	4. Chapter 4

_It has been a year_  
_Time feels like nothing at all_  
_We want this to last_

_Falling snow brings warmth_  
_Something new stirs within me_  
_I am not alone_

On a cold winter day Haruka, Tomo, and I decide to spend our time off in the city. As the seasons changed and the weather cooled the city slowly emptied of its temporary inhabitants. The merchants and their caravans, fearing winter storms, trailed back down the mountain and the markets vanished like leaves scattering in the wind. The tourists and travelers and part-time workers went with them, leaving the city streets empty and quiet once more. Barely a month, and it feels like a different world now. But there is a sizeable permanent population not so easily moved by the changing of seasons. Their restaurants and stores remain open, and in the quiet they are more than happy to have students visit.

We exit a store where Haruka bought a new pale green scarf because she lost her old one in the pond. The scarf will help keep her warm as winter continues to set in. Already the cold creeps through our room’s thin walls at night. 

The evening is still young and curfew is still far off, but the days are getting shorter and the sun is already starting to set. The streets are quiet enough that we can walk side by side as we press together for warmth. I brought a parasol with me, the only one to do so, and I’m careful to not let it hit anyone as I leave it folded and rested over one shoulder. 

When we round a corner we find a little patisserie with a single person sitting at the wooden tables set out front. Camus is dressed more for a mid-autumn day than for winter, but this doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He sits comfortably with a book in one hand, and a teacup and daifuku sit on the table. Steam curls out of the teacup and Camus glances up at us. 

“Good evening,” he greets as he marks his place and closes his book. 

“Good evening,” we greet in return. 

It took patience and time, but Camus warmed to us. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that he warmed to Haruka. 

“The sweet buns you brought us were exemplary,” Camus remarks to Haruka who bows her head and mumbles her thanks. 

“I had help,” Haruka says as she glances at me. “I had never made that kind of bun before.” 

“Oh?” 

Now Camus’ interest and attention tips to me. 

“Nai wong bao,” I explain. “Custard buns. I haven’t found anyone who makes them in this area.” 

“I agree with that assessment,” Camus says. “And I have thoroughly sampled the sweets and pastries in this region. Should either of you decide to make these buns again, do feel free to send some my way.” 

He’s not subtle, almost demanding even, but I now know how to recognize the compliment for what it is. 

We chat a little longer before we leave Camus to his book and tea. We continue on, window shopping for a little while longer, until Tomo abruptly comes to a stop. 

“Is that Masayan?” Tomo asks as she peers through the window of a paper and ink store. 

Haruka and I stop to look as well, and sure enough there is Masato examining the variety of inks set out on display. Though he doesn’t notice us the shopkeeper does, and with so many people hovering outside the window it only seems polite to enter. Masato glances up when we open the door and he greets us with visible surprise. 

“Shopping for ink?” I ask. 

“Yes,” Masato says. “I want to purchase something more high quality than what the school provides for us so that I can use it for a calligraphy gift for my sister.” 

Masato and I debate colour and quality until we are both reasonably confident in our choice of ink. The shopkeeper brings out a small set of sample materials. Masato delicately dips the brush into the ink and draws a single clean stroke across the paper. Tomo laughs as we both lean in to watch how the ink spreads and dries to a subtle shine. Gingerly I touch my finger to the ink stroke, and to our amazement the ink does not smudge. In the end Masato buys two bottles as well as a small supply of high quality calligraphy paper. 

We step outside and the sky darkened both from the setting sun and the clouds gathering overhead. The streets are busier now as many locals make their daily pilgrimages home or out to eat. More restaurants are starting to open now, their lanterns glowing in the windows. 

Having finished their shopping and browsing, Haruka and Tomo decide to head back to the school but I want to wander the streets some more. Masato offers to walk them back, and the three of them head down the mountain together. 

I twirl my parasol, still closed as I don’t need it just yet, over my shoulder as I wander the city. I come from a village so small that everyone knew who I am from the day I was born. The anonymity of this place, the idea that your business is no one’s but your own, is something that I could happily get lost in. 

Aimlessly I wind my way through the streets until I find myself among the elaborate public gardens. There are few rare glimpses of colour as winter tightens its hold, and the branches have been left bare by autumn. And yet, it is still beautiful. The way the dark branches cut across the gray sky. The gentle stillness punctuated by the rhythmic sound of running water. 

I take a deep breath. The air is fresh and cool. It reminds me of home. 

“You’re here alone?” a familiar voice greets, and I turn to face the person behind me. 

“Haruka and Tomo returned without me,” I tell Tokiya as he moves to stand beside me. “Masato walked them back.” 

“I see. Did he find the ink he was looking for?” 

“Yes. It’s lovely ink too. If it wasn’t so expensive I would have bought some myself. Are you here alone too?” 

“In a manner of speaking. I came here with Camus and Hijirikawa, but we went our separate ways soon after arriving.” 

“Oh. Apologies for the company then.” 

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad I ran into you tonight.” 

“We did run into Camus too, actually. He didn’t seem dressed for the weather.” 

“Ah, yes. He comes from much colder climate, so he is more than accustomed to these winters. The summer was very difficult for him, however.” 

Together we stand on the bridge that arcs over the koi pond. The koi, brilliant with their red and white patterns, are more lethargic in the cold but they are still peaceful to watch. 

Tokiya and I are the only ones here, gardens are not popular in the winter, but this suits us both just fine. 

“Why do you have a parasol?” Tokiya asks, and I laugh. 

“You’re the first person to ask me that,” I say. “This is becoming a habit of yours. Well, I happened to see that I’d need a parasol today. So I brought one.” 

Tokiya laughs lightly and shakes his head. After a year of knowing each other he is used to my idiosyncrasies, or at least as used to them as anyone can be. 

I hesitate. I have questions, I always have questions, but there is a wanting that I never predicted or even expected. I might as well just ask though, because surely I can’t appear any stranger. 

“May I ask you something?” I say. 

“Of course,” Tokiya answers. 

“Why did you come here to study?” 

Tokiya is silent for a moment as he considers the answer to my question. 

“I came here for the sake of my dreams,” he says. “The education and training this place provides will serve me well in the future.” 

The conversation flows from there as we walk about the empty garden at a relaxed pace. We talk about where we came from and the footprints left in our wake. 

I am struck by how easy it is to talk to him. I am struck by how much he wants to listen. 

I never noticed the wall around my heart until I came to this place. It is safer if everyone only thinks of me as mad. It is safer to hide behind a character created from people’s first impressions of me. Except I can’t stay safe forever. Maybe it’s better that way. 

“I would love to see you perform one day,” I say as the past flows into the future. 

“You would have to come down from your mountain for that,” Tokiya teases, and I laugh. 

“Until I came here I never thought I’d leave the village I grew up in, and now part of me wants to see the world. But I don’t know if that will ever happen. I wish I could see that far ahead, but I can’t.” 

“May I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“I want to know more about how you see the future, if that's okay.” 

“At night I dream of the future, but when I’m awake I don’t remember everything that I dreamed. I have to remember the future. Usually the closer I am the clearer the memory becomes, but it’s not consistent. Sometimes I know details. Usually it’s just a feeling of knowing that I should do something.” 

“Like knowing that you should make eleven extra lunches. Or bring a parasol.” 

“Precisely.” 

We return to where we started, on the bridge over the pond. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon. It’s almost time for us to leave if we are to make our respective curfews in time. We watch the koi swim lazily about their pond. 

“Sometimes,” I admit quietly, “I wish I couldn’t see the future at all. Sometimes I wish I could see more.” 

And then snow starts to fall. It’s just a gentle fluttering at first, but those first few flakes are only the beginning. As more snow joins the whirling dance I open my parasol and raise it above us. Being taller, Tokiya takes the parasol from me so that we can both take shelter beneath it. 

We watch the snow in silence, our warm breath visible in the cold air. The snow falls faster until we can no longer see the edges of the garden through the haze of white. Time seems to stand still as we are isolated and drawn into an ephemeral world. 

Tokiya shifts beside me, moving the parasol to his other hand so that he has to hold his arm across his body in order to keep the parasol between us. I don’t know what he’s doing, not until he slips his free hand into mine. 

His touch his gentle and warm. My heart flutters and races. 

On that day almost a year ago now, the only thing I knew was that two of us among fourteen people had just met the loves of their lives. 

In the absence of details I made a guess, and I continued to guess as the seasons changed. 

I never guessed this. 

I never guessed anything close to this. 

Carefully I move closer so that our shoulders are touching. He doesn’t pull away.


	5. Chapter 5

_My heart starts to warm_  
_This is a new world for me_  
_I write about love_

_Too short and too long_  
_I hold this time as precious_  
_It all consumes me_

Winter warms to spring once more. It has been more than a year now since the boys first crossed the river, and yet in many ways it feels as though we’ve known each other our entire lives. Yet every time we meet I swear I learn something new about them, and perhaps they learn something about me too. The terror of being known is replaced by the comfort of being cared about and cared for. To say that these friends I’ve made are important to me is insufficient. 

And yet even as the flowers bloom I can’t stop thinking of snow and the warmth I found within it. I have learned since then, through patience and gentle insistence, that the night of winter’s first snowfall was not simply a whim driven by the isolation of the cold. It was the beginning of a new intent, or perhaps the continuation of an old intent I had not noticed until now. 

At night I dream not only of the future but also of Tokiya. By day I write poetry and prose into a new journal that I will one day give to him. 

I am lovesick and love addled. 

Tomo teases me endlessly for it of course, but she and Haruka are happy for me. Or perhaps they’re mostly pleased that love has so altered my subconscious that I am somehow less compelled to stand on rooftops. Love, for all its foibles, has kept me out of trouble. 

Otoya and Syo duel each other down by the pond. The clashing of swords echoes throughout the garden, and every movement kicks up a swirl of flower petals around their feet. Their battle is more like a dance, and they are closely matched in both skill and strength. And yet despite the fierceness of every strike and the intensity of their rivalry, the encounter is jubilous. They laugh when they can catch their breath and pass teasing banter back and forth. 

“We’ll have a better view from here,” I tell Haruka, and I take her hand and pull her up onto the bridge. 

She doesn’t understand at first as I pull her further away from the action. We stand up at the top of the bridge’s arc as the boys continue their battle below. That is, until a misstep is followed by another and in a tangle of limbs they both go tumbling into the water. Flailing and spluttering, they drag themselves out of the pond. Water pours from their hair and clothes as they collapse side by side on the grass. 

“You knew that was going to happen,” Syo accuses when he notices us watching from the bridge, but I’m laughing too hard to answer one way or the other. 

Haruka is more sympathetic than I am, and she goes with the boys to fetch some towels so that they can dry off. Otoya and Syo seem more concerned about their swords though, and as they leave they strike up a lively argument about who would have won had they not gone for an abrupt swim. They leave a trail of water in their wake, and I stifle another laugh. 

I walk back alone to rejoin the others relaxing under the pavilion that is the twin to the one we ate under on the day we first met. The others are scattered throughout the pavilion as they converse, perched like songbirds on the benches and railings. 

“Welcome back, little bird,” Ren calls out when I arrive. “Where are the others? Did you push them into the pond?” 

“They fell in all by themselves,” I say, and Ren is briefly taken aback from being so close to the truth. 

“I wasn’t serious, but maybe you are.” 

“Otoya and Syo fell in. Haruka went with them to find towels.” 

Ren leans back against the ornate fencing. There is mischief in his smile and a desire to cause a little trouble just for the sake of it. 

“You sure you want to leave the little lamb alone with two men?” he asks, a devious lilt in his voice. 

“They’re too cold and too embarrassed to try anything,” I point out flatly, and Ren laughs. 

I, of course, haven’t told anyone about the future I saw what feels like a lifetime ago. And despite the future unfolding in a way I never expected, the boys still compete and vie for Haruka’s attention and affection. They are drawn to her light, and I can hardly blame them. She is a composer and they are singers. Their passions complement each other’s, and it links their hearts together. 

Tokiya has taken a seat on one of the benches lining the pavilion. He meets my eyes and smiles, inviting me to sit next to him. Except there is an obstacle in the form of Ranmaru napping in the sun, his legs stretched out to take up the remaining bench space. Unwilling to be deterred so easily, I reach out and poke him in the shoulder. A single red eye opens just enough to glare up at me in silent accusation. I tell more than ask him to move his legs to give me space, but his response is to slouch down even further. Tokiya stands up in surprise when Ranmaru’s feet touch his side. I poke Ranmaru again, but this time he refuses to be roused. 

“It’s fine,” Tokiya says. “It’s a nice day for a walk.” 

Tokiya offers me his hand and I take it. As we walk away I glance back over my shoulder in time to see a ghost of Ranmaru’s smile. I am left to guess at who benefited the most from the unceremonious eviction. 

The spring air is warm in the sun but cool in the shade. Falling petals drift lazily in the air around us as we walk along the path circling the pond. Otoya and Syo fell into the water only moments prior, but nature has reclaimed its peaceful stillness all the same. 

Tokiya’s hand is warm in mine, and I tangle our fingers tighter. He responds by pulling me closer to his side. 

“Words gather in my mind like petals in the grass. And I would spin a thousand for your smile.” 

We slow to a stop to watch the koi swimming about the pond. One brave fish nibbles experimentally at a petal floating on the water’s surface before darting back to safer depths. 

“I missed you,” Tokiya says. 

His voice is soft and almost reverent as he turns away from the pond so that he can gaze at me instead. He reaches up and gently brushes the hair away from my eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Two nights ago I dreamed we would meet again,” I confess. “But I didn’t know exactly when. I don’t think I’ve ever been so impatient.” 

Tokiya laughs and leans forward so that his lips brush my hair. 

“Impatient for what?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Do you have something particular in mind? Whatever it is, I would be more than happy to oblige.” 

When he smiles my heart turns over again and again. When he laughs I realize that I would do anything to hear that beautiful sound again. 

For once, words fail me. But when his lips find mine, I realize I don't need them.


	6. Chapter 6

_A restlessness stirs_  
_Time passes, and roads open_  
_Everyone has changed_

_Their dreams are waiting_  
_They perform beneath the moon_  
_These are future stars_

The world cools once more and the leaves turn a flurry of colours before tumbling to the ground. And yet, despite the world becoming quiet and slow, Tomo only grows more restless. Unlike me, Tomo can’t see the future. Unlike me, Tomo is assured in her ability to shape it. 

There is a light burning inside of her that she is aching to share with the world. Though she loves us, though this place makes her happy, graduation can’t come soon enough for her. It is past time for her to make use of the skills she has learned and honed during our time here. It is past time for her to move on to something greater. 

The city streets are alive once more with laughter and music. Twin boys race each other to a dango cart, their tiny hands clutching coins for their sweets. An old woman sits outside of her home and hands out colourful wildflowers for free to any passerby. She squeezes our hands when we thank her, and we bow our heads so that she can reach up to tuck the flowers into our hair. 

It’s well past curfew but here in this place, where the light is warm and kindness is freely given, rules like those don’t matter. 

There were no dreamtime visions to guide me this time, but we find each other all the same. We are drawn to each other like compasses pointing north. 

“Looks like we're not the only ones who decided to sneak out,” Reiji says, a finger to his lips like a child's conspiracy for silence. 

“Like you’re not sneaking out all the time,” Tomo counters with a mischievous smile. 

“Guilty as charged. But you’re dressed very fancily tonight. A hot date perhaps?” 

Tomo laughs and twirls in place. Her long pleated skirt fans out around her, and the intricate needlework of her dress shimmers in the light. 

“I’m going to perform tonight,” Tomo declares like she did to me and Haruka shortly before she climbed out of the window. 

Haruka and I followed her without question, and the time when we would protest and hesitate seems like a far distant dream. 

Even I, who can see the future, failed to predict how our fourteen lives would intertwine. We walked vastly different paths before we met and became precious to each other in ways we couldn’t fathom. And yet we will still part, perhaps sooner than we would like, but that is not for us to decide. Nothing lasts forever. 

Tomo finds her stage in the form of a small public courtyard. There is little remarkable about the space and so it becomes a throughway for people headed elsewhere. I can see by the light in her eyes that Tomo aims to change that if only for tonight. 

“I’m going to sing,” Tomo elaborates with a sweep of her arm, “because I can’t wait for graduation to perform.” 

“Would you like a musician to join you?” Cecil offers, and Tomo enthusiastically agrees. 

Cecil begins the first song with his flute, building a fluttering melody that culminates when Tomo starts to sing. The songs they chose are classics so that they’d both know them, but they make the music their own and weave their parts together into a jubilant dance. 

Soon the courtyard fills as at first people slow to stop and listen, but then people come willingly as they alter their course. Tomo and Cecil shine beneath the moon’s spotlight, and everyone is drawn to their light. 

When they finish performing the packed audience cheers loudly and begs for more, but the hour is late and the performers need to rest despite how tempted they are to continue. With the courtyard now crowded to every wall we are forced to scatter in different directions to escape. Tokiya’s hand finds mine and we flee together down one of the narrow winding streets. 

Free from the pressure of the crowd it’s easier to breathe, and we slow to a walk when the bustle of people fades to a rustling murmur. We know where we’re supposed to go, but we are in no hurry. The quieter narrower streets are poorly lit, and in the privacy of the shadows Tokiya pulls me in for a kiss. He laughs when I reach up and pull him closer for another. 

As we walk we talk in quiet voices, painting a picture of the time when we were apart. Except our conversation is cut short when we realize we are no longer alone. For someone who looks identical to Natsuki stands alone ahead of us, his gaze fixed on the moon above and his glasses in one hand. When he notices us I can finally see clearly the thing I’ve only glimpsed in Natsuki’s eyes. This is not the friend I’ve come to know since that fateful winter day. And yet I am unafraid. This stranger is intimidating but he is not bad or dangerous. He is just different. 

Our eyes meet, and recognition passes between us. Then he reaches up to put the glasses on, and he is gone. I am unsure if we will ever meet again. 

Natsuki greets us warmly as though nothing happened. We make our way to the meeting place as beside me Natsuki and Tokiya talk about constellations and stars. Together we head upwards to our usual rooftop haunt to sit beneath the stars and moon. Everyone gathers at their own pace. Drinks and food are passed around. Laughter fills the air. 

“Your performance was amazing!” Natsuki declares to Tomo and Cecil. 

They stand and take a bow, their smiles so bright they rival the moon. 

“I have constructive feedback based on data I obtained during your performance,” Ai adds. “I observed both you and the audience so that I could formulate a comprehensive list of recommendations. If you would like to hear them, I would be happy to enumerate them for you.” 

“I want to get better,” Tomo affirms. “So I need to know how to get better.” 

Ai obliges her and Cecil both, systematically going through the performance with astonishing thoroughness. 

“Everyone is working so hard,” Reiji muses as he watches them, his chin resting on his hand. “I came to this school for flimsy reasons and I still don’t know what path I want to take, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work hard too. There are many ways to live, and one day I’ll find what I’m looking for.” 

I think I understand. I think I can relate. 

A compulsion builds within me. 

I spent my whole life trying to fight this compulsion. In the village I grew up in the buildings are all low, but I climbed them all the same until I was ready to tackle mountains and trees. My father used to climb after me, and when I was small enough he would hoist me over one shoulder and drag me back down to earth. Everyone told me to stop, and when I couldn’t stop they sent me away. They wanted me to be fixed. 

A compulsion builds within me. I don’t fight it. I want to climb, and so I do. For the first time, I am at peace with myself. For the first time, I feel free. 

“Are you following me?” I ask when Tokiya climbs after me. 

“Yes,” he says. “Don’t you know? I would follow you anywhere.” 

Love catches in my chest and I reach out to help him up to where I’m standing. 

I stand beneath the full moon and spread my arms out to catch the light. Lanterns bob and sway in the gentle wind that blows through the city. I follow the ripple of light until it blurs together in the distance. 

I give in to these feelings burning in my heart. 

“Stars stand among us.  
A voice rises to the sky.  
Joined by a lone flute.  
I listen with attention.  
Something beautiful is born.” 

I give in to joy. 

“All stop to listen.  
All are drawn in to a light.  
It is entrancing.  
Her feet step delicately.  
His fingers play melodies.” 

I give in to love. 

“A cheer rises up.  
A net of magic is cast.  
Hearts are enraptured.  
A song lingers on the wind.  
Smiles are etched into souls.” 

I take a breath. The compulsion passes. I feel lighter and, strangely, stronger. 

On the roof below my friends applaud. I never perform for an audience. If I had a choice I would stay hidden from judgement and prying eyes. So it is still jarring and strange whenever someone wants to listen. 

“You flatter us,” Tomo says, her face pink from drink and pleasure. 

“It’s well deserved,” I counter, and she blushes happily. 

I stay where I am beneath the moon as the others return to their revelry. Only Tokiya continues to watch me. I meet his eyes and tip my head in askance. 

“I would offer a song in response,” he says, “but my improvisation skills are lacking. It wouldn’t be a tribute like your poems.” 

“If you want to sing,” I say, “then you should sing.” 

Rarely is anything so simple, but here and now we are free in a way we may never be again. 

Tokiya sings. Below us there is a soft stir followed by silence as the others stop to listen, but I barely notice it. All I can think about is Tokiya’s voice as it surrounds me like an embrace. In the span of a heartbeat he becomes my whole world, and I wish that this could last forever.


	7. Chapter 7

_Time cannot be slowed_  
_There is still so much to say_  
_My heart is heavy_

_My heart won't be stopped_  
_This warmth can't be forgotten_  
_I want to hold on_

If I could stop time then I would suffer winter’s chill to delay the coming of spring, for come spring we will part ways and scatter across the world. 

I curse my dreams with the same breath that begs them to show me more. Will we ever meet again? I want to know, but that door remains closed to me. 

Steam curls from the teacup as Camus stirs in his tenth spoonful of sugar. Even in the warmth of the patisserie we can’t forget the cold outside. Blue sky and white snow. They remind us of the preciousness of this time we have left together. 

In the middle of the table sits a vast assortment of pastries and sweets. I take a bite of an anpan, and it’s soft and sweet and warm. 

Evening tea is lazy and slow with time only marked by the setting sun and the accumulation of crumbs on plates. We talk in hushed voices as though too much noise could shatter the peace like glass. Every so often I will look away and find another pastry thrust onto my plate. It’s by the lack of any indication of movement, the pastry appearing before me like it materialized from nothing, that I am able to identify the culprit. 

I am the first to take my leave and step out into the cold. The sun is just a sliver on the horizon and there is a fresh layer of snow on the ground that crunches beneath my feet. 

As I make my way through the quiet city I pause when I hear a familiar laugh. I turn a corner towards the sound and a courtyard sprawls out before me. 

There is a little girl rolling snow for a snowman. Her snowball is almost as big as she is but that doesn’t slow her down, for Masato stands close behind her and helps her push it along. The family resemblance is strong, and Masato is fond of speaking highly about his little sister. It doesn’t take much to put the pieces together. 

I don’t make my presence known. I have an important meeting to make so I cannot linger. My footprints in the glittering snow follow another set of tracks not long since created. 

The theatres are closed for the season as their patrons avoid traveling for leisure in winter. As the sun vanishes over the horizon no one is around to see me slip into one of the smaller theatres. 

Tokiya waits for me inside, a fan resting across his knee as he sits cross-legged on the ornate stage. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says as he rises to his feet. 

There is a breath of relief in his voice that I don’t understand. Doesn’t he know that I want to be with him? 

I sit at the end of the stage as Tokiya takes his place in front of me. In the middle of the open space stripped bare of its set pieces, he dances. 

Tokiya dances like he sings. 

Measured. 

Graceful. 

Passionate. 

Beautiful. 

Perfect. 

There is no music, but we don’t need it. With motion alone he weaves a song that keeps time with the thrum of my heart. The moonlight glittering off the snow outlines him in light and he seems to glow. 

I am enraptured by every inch of him. His eyes meet mine, and his smile leaves me drowning. 

This dance is for me and me alone. Vast though the stage may be, the space between us feels small and intimate and I wish I could bare my heart in return. 

I will keep this memory forever. 

Tokiya’s dance ends with gentle power, and in the moonlight I can see his breath curling in the air. 

He is filled with beauty and I am filled with love. He asks me what I think and there is a storm in my mind. 

There is only one answer I can give him. 

“I could write a thousand poems about my love for you.” 

I reach out with a nervousness I hope to conquer. The winter night is cold, but he is warm where I touch him and where he touches me. I don't ever want to let him go.


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorrow tempers joy_  
_Tomorrow makes our hearts ache_  
_The seasons still change_

_I want forever_  
_I reach for one more moment_  
_My heart slowly breaks_

The beauty of blooming flowers brings a melancholy sorrow. The falling cherry blossom petals mark the end of spring and thus our time together. Haruka, Tomo, and I hold hands as we sit beneath the old cherry tree. 

Today the school celebrates a culmination of successes that led us to this day. Tomorrow we will all part ways, scattering to the wind as we return home. 

Our homecomings will be extravagant, more parades than journeys, and I have already seen glimpses of how a tiny village carved from dirt and stone will react. It will be beautiful, but it means we all must return to where we came from. Everything must come full circle. 

The air is filled with music and laughter and singing and farewells and promises and hopes and dreams. Everyone is eager to show off what they have learned, the culmination of our work and these years. 

Eventually we can linger no more. We promised not to spend our remaining time together in sorrow and instead make the most of what time we have left. We walk hand in hand as we join the festivities. 

Together we sample the food and dance our way through the crowds. Together we laugh at every little thing. Together we unconsciously seek each other and refuse to let go. 

Tomo longs to perform but today she only sings one song. We wrote this song together. Haruka created the melody while I wrote the lyrics, and with Tomo to sing it the song becomes complete. This song links us together. This song reminds us that no matter what, our time together cannot be erased. 

I hold Haruka close as she starts to cry. 

When the sun starts to set, we make our way into the city. Even if I didn’t dream of the future I would still know what’s about to happen. 

“They love you, you know,” I say to Haruka as around us the streets fill with people. 

“I’m glad,” Haruka says. “I love them too. And I love you and Tomo. I’m so lucky that I met you all. No matter what path I take you’ll all be close to my heart.” 

I consider telling her that their love isn’t quite the same, but I realize that maybe she already knows that. And maybe she’s decided that it doesn’t change anything. 

The streets are alive as the city celebrates with us, or perhaps it was just that the valley can no longer hold us. 

We are drawn to each other like compasses pointing north. Despite the whirlwind of colour and sound we find each other. 

Syo is the first to see us. He calls out to us and jumps up and down to make up for his height and be seen through the crowd. We run to each other with open enthusiasm. Only now can any celebration of ours truly begin. 

There is a newcomer to the group, but even though he’s new his face is familiar. 

“This is my twin brother Kaoru,” Syo introduces, and Kaoru greets us with enthusiastic cheer. 

Even if I hadn’t known Syo for so long, I would still be able to tell them apart. Kaoru is taller and his voice is higher, but when he smiles he is identical to his brother. 

Kaoru doesn’t stay for long. His path is different from his brother’s and so he has commitments elsewhere. He would stay with Syo for longer if he could and his leaving is reluctant, but it seems the twins have had this conversation before. 

Laughter surrounds us as we wander aimlessly together. It doesn’t matter what we do or where we go as long as we’re together. I take Tokiya’s hand and he tugs me closer to his side. 

And then, one by one, they sing. They sing the last song that Haruka wrote for them, passing the song between them until their voices culminate in a beautiful eleven part resonance of the pain of parting and the joy of having met. The days we spent together cannot be erased no matter how much time and distance might try, and the power and emotion in their voices make it clear that like me they would never choose a different path knowing what we know now. 

Tomo holds Haruka tightly as Haruka starts to cry again, and if I cannot stop time to keep this moment forever then I will capture it in words instead. 

When the stars start to emerge our pace starts to slow. Someone’s stomach grumbles and there is a chorus of denials from the boys. 

“Clearly it is time to eat,” Ren notes with a laugh. “And it would be in poor form of us to let the ladies go hungry.” 

Immediately the three ladies in question deny that it was us who were responsible for the traitorous stomach. Ren laughs fondly and leads the way to one of the many restaurants he knows. Every restaurant is full of newly graduated students looking to celebrate, but Ren’s family name carries weight even so far from where Ren tentatively calls home. A single word from him gets us a private room. 

We sit around a grand round wooden table so closely that our elbows brush whenever someone moves. Despite a few scuffles among the boys as they try to snatch food out from under each other’s chopsticks, no one seems to mind. 

We chatter endlessly through course after course of food. It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about as long as it’s with each other, but eventually the conversation turns to the future. Where will we go? What will we do? 

“I came here to chase my dreams,” Otoya declares. “The work was hard but worth it, and I’m not going to stop now. I’m going to keep chasing my dreams and never give up. 

Otoya’s enthusiasm and determination elicit a flurry of similar thoughts and feelings. Dreams and goals are called out with passion. When they see the future they see it as they want it to be, and though I am happy for them I can’t help but feel broken for wandering so aimlessly. 

“Not having a direction is okay,” Ranmaru says from beside me as he reaches for another piece of barbeque pork, and his voice is low enough that only I can hear him. “It doesn’t matter where you’re going, just that you’re still going. But you’re not the only one who feels this way.” 

A hand rests on the back of my head, as gentle as it is firm. 

“Do what feels right,” he continues. “Your heart knows what it wants.” 

His hand drops away and it’s like nothing happened. Ranmaru moves on to fighting over a piece of tripe and I am left to consider what he told me. 

I don’t dream the same way my friends do. When I dream I see what will be instead of what could be, but maybe I could learn. I grew up among rice terraces in a village so small that I know everyone’s name, and for a time it was my whole world but now I know better. I like to think I was content there, but I know I was never happy. I will return to that home that is no longer home, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay. I know I won’t find anything by staying, but if I leave then just maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for. 

When we finish dinner, an impressive train of course after course, we stumble back out into the night. We are no longer tethered by curfews and rules, not that they ever stopped us before. The night will be long but it will still be too short. Come morning Haruka, Tomo, and I will have one last chance to say goodbye, but these are our last moments with the boys. We may never meet again, and though I promised not to be sorrowful it still sits like a pit in my heart. 

“How long are you planning on waiting, little bird?” Ren asks me out of nowhere. 

I am rarely surprised but this makes twice in one night. 

“Pardon?” is all I can manage, and the glint in his eyes tells me that I’ve made a mistake. 

“This is your last night together,” he says. “Your last chance to make some memories, don’t you think?” 

I realize what he means, and I suspect Tokiya has realized too given how he looks ready to tell Ren off for being so bold. 

“Go on,” Ren says as he claps Tokiya on the shoulder and gives him a little shove. “Treat your lady to something sweet.” 

The others are unfortunately quick to join in with a flurry of teasing and encouragement. Tokiya shoots Ren an accusatory look as he quickly pulls me away from our friends’ heckling. He doesn’t stop until we can no longer hear them behind us. 

“Did we just get kicked out?” I wonder aloud. 

“Insufferable,” Tokiya mutters, and I resist pointing out that the back of his neck is turning red. 

We slow to a comfortable walk and drift away from the city crowds even as they grow quiet around us. The night wears on, and it’s time for the city to sleep. 

“I confess,” Tokiya says quietly, breaking the silence between us, “that I did hope to spend time alone with you.” 

Unconsciously we are drawn to where we first watched the snow together. Just like then we are alone in the garden, but instead of being surrounded by shimmering snow the air is still and the sky is clear. 

We find a bench and sit pressed against each other. There is so much left to say and do but not enough time. 

“I have something for you,” I say as I reach for my bag. 

I pull out a well-worn journal and pass it to Tokiya who turns it over in his hands. He carefully thumbs through the ink stained pages and gasps softly when he realizes what it is. 

After that night in the snow, my heart and mind were full to the point of bursting. I spun word after word into this journal that is now both a love letter and a chronicle of our time together. 

“Thank you,” Tokiya says, and there are tears in his eyes as he pulls me into his arms. 

He holds me close enough that I can feel his heart beating against mine. 

His warmth, his scent, his voice. The sound of his laugh and the way he smiles. I could spend the rest of my life writing and it would still never be enough. It would never be the same. 

Tokiya reaches up and gently brushes away my tears with his thumb. I didn’t even realize I was crying. 

“I wish,” he whispers, “that I had something to give you in return.” 

“You gave me this time and these memories,” I say. “You gave me this love. They will never leave me. I won’t let them.” 

I can see the uncertainty in his eyes as he searches for something that might convey how he feels right now, and when he can’t find the words he kisses me instead. Again and again until I understand how desperately he wishes he didn’t have to let go. 

“I’ll find you,” I promise even as I have to catch my breath. 

“Or,” Tokiya says, “I wait to hear a rumour about a hermit poet living on a mountain.” 

I laugh despite everything and so does he. I rest my forehead against his chest and he kisses the top of my head. We stay like this with only our warmth and the sound of our breath between us. 

The world goes on around us. It can wait. 

“I love you.” 

I don’t know who said it first, and it doesn’t matter. 

I wish we had years instead of hours, but all we have is the rest of this night. I want to make the most of it, and I can tell Tokiya does too from the urgency of every kiss and every touch. 

The past is behind us and the future is closed to me. I let go of them both. There is only the present and this surrender.


	9. Chapter 9

_This returning hurts_  
_Home is just another place_  
_I do not look back_

_A promise to keep_  
_Even now, my heart is yours_  
_I remember you_

In the farms and fields autumn has always been a time for work as crops come to yield and there is harvesting to be done. And yet even among the rice terraces we paused our work for just one night to celebrate the mid-autumn festival. We gathered beneath the full moon and gave thanks as we prayed for a better tomorrow. Though I gathered and gave thanks I never prayed. There seemed to be no point if I could already see the future. 

Here in this city the celebration lasts all day, and in the hours leading up to sunset there is music and performances and food to suit every taste. Every time I turn a corner or go down a new street it’s like entering a different world. Suddenly a new musician is playing a different song and a new chef is cooking up a different cuisine. Everything collides together into a tapestry of sights and smells and sounds and laughter and joy that almost feels like I could call it home. 

My journey to the rice terraces was done in an ornate carriage worth more than the entire village I returned to. I insisted on wearing a simple dress instead of one of the flowing gowns that I saw Haruka and Tomo off in, but even the plainest thing they would provide for me was stunning compared to the worn and tattered clothes made for wading through the mud. 

I returned a lady, with graceful steps and pretty words and hands no longer roughened by years of labour. The village celebrated my arrival because to them it was as though royalty had come to grace their land. The younger girls who once gossiped and laughed about me behind my back took to following my every step as though it might somehow teach them in days what I had learned in years. 

And as for my parents? I did not miss how they, despite everything, carefully turned away when once more I felt a need to climb. 

There is nothing wrong with growing rice. There is in fact something satisfying about coaxing life from the ground. But I can do more than grow rice and wait for my parents to find me a husband and family that will take me. I would make no one happy if I stayed. And now that I know that there is so much to the world and somewhere within it is a place for me waiting to be found, how could I stay? So I left. I took the horse but gave my family the carriage. I never looked back. 

Aimlessly I roam the festival that spills down every street. I only know that I’m supposed to be here, but I don’t know what I will find. 

I know what I hope for. I thought that distance and time would ease the pain of my friends’ absence but that has yet to happen. I see something and a memory stirs. Unconsciously I reach for them as I have done so many times before, but my hand closes around empty air. 

I pause to watch a troupe of dancers perform. The long sleeves of their colourful dresses swoop and arc as they move them like extensions of their bodies. A small accompaniment of musicians plays a flighty tune, and next to me a child tries to jump in time to the music. 

Tomo would love this. Both watching and performing. But instead of airy grace she would move with self-assured power and strength. I wonder if she is out there performing at a festival in another city somewhere. 

I move on when they start another song. Merchant carts line the streets, and many of the city’s residents set up makeshift stalls right in their own doorways. One woman sits against her doorway, her head bent over her lap as she sews together identical geometric shapes folded from paper. When she finishes she will hang the completed kusudama from the doorway where it will bob and sway with the others. 

Ai shared a room like we all did, but that didn’t stop him from filling it with kusudama of countless colours, shapes, and sizes. At first he was searching for something that might be a perfect combination, but then he just liked how they looked when they spun in the breeze. I wonder if he is out there still folding paper shapes with exacting precision. 

Further down the street a cavalcade of foreign merchants have gathered in a courtyard to sell their goods but also to buy something interesting for when they return home. A flurry of different languages fills the courtyard, but everyone laughs the same. One merchant catches my eye and gestures to the array of finely made instruments laid out before him. Some I recognize, and others I do not. He says something and I realize that I have heard this language before. I know just enough words to say, “No thank you,” and move on. 

Cecil’s homeland is so distant that I can barely fathom it. He showed it to me on a map once and I couldn't comprehend the distance he would need to travel to return home. I don’t even know if it’s night or day for him right now. Whatever the case, however far away he is, I only hope that he is happy. I wonder if he is out there playing his flute for the goddess he so adores. 

When my stomach rumbles I stop to buy a chicken skewer. The smell of food makes my mouth water, and to my embarrassment I burn my tongue in my haste to eat. 

Reiji grew up cooking good food, and he was always pushing us to try the recipes he brought from home. He would speak fondly of his family and his early days working as a child. He laughed as he told us how he needed to stand on a box in order to see over the counter. I wonder if he is out there serving up food for eager customers and equally eager to see them smile. 

The sky grows dark as I continue walking, but it’s only in darkness that everything can shine. The moon is brighter now and the night has only just begun. An elderly couple walk arm in arm at their own pace. When they pass by I overhear them naming the constellations and the stars. 

Natsuki was the one who taught me how to always find my way by looking up at the stars. I never thought I’d need to learn something like that, and when I said so he gently told me that even if you stay in one place forever it’s still important to know where you are. When he was younger he followed the stars south to the edge of the ocean where the beaches are soft and warm, and I know that he wants to follow those stars again. I hope that in the end he makes it back north to his family and their farm. I wonder if he is out there looking up at the moon like I am right now. 

New songs begin and I slow to a stop to take it all in. I still don’t know why the future led me here and the past reaches up to surround me. 

Then I hear it. A lone voice lifting above the noise of the crowds. 

The past and the future fall away. I chase the present. 

I push through the crowd, uncaring of insulted protests and pointed remarks about my manners. I don’t stop until I find a small simple stage that has gathered a crowd of attention so dense that it forms a wall in front of me. 

Tokiya sings, and every note is filled with grace tempered by strength. The song is a gentle ballad and yet he sings with a burning passion that aches of love and longing. 

I stand entranced. Distance and time have not changed my mind or my heart. 

When Tokiya finishes he bows to the sound of deafening applause. I try to push closer but even with my stubbornness the wall of people is unrelenting. To my despair Tokiya slips out of sight and I can no longer see him past all the people. 

My dreams offered no promises or answers, and yet I still know what I must do. 

I change my course and walk away from the stage. 

When my compulsions take control I am thrust into a daze. I have no control over myself and rarely am I even aware of what I’m doing. I come to on a roof or in a tree or sometimes even partway up with no choice but to continue. 

For once I choose to climb. Every handhold and foothold is met with purpose and determination. 

Someone yells up at me but I don’t care. I keep going until I stand up on the curved roof so much like the one I stood upon that fateful winter day. 

My heart is thundering in my chest but I cannot stop here. I take a deep breath. For the first time I speak because I want the whole world to hear. 

“In snow, I found warmth.  
Flowers bloom, framed by his smile.  
The moon knows this love.  
Memories held to my heart.  
I would make more by his side.” 

I hear my name, a single word made beautiful by the one calling it. 

A crowd gathers beneath me and belatedly I realize that this must look like another performance. Everyone’s eyes are on me, but only one person fights to come closer. 

Tokiya pushes his way through the crowd until he reaches the foot of the building, and he doesn’t stop there. He climbs, maybe the only time when he’s less graceful than I am, and I laugh with delighted surprise. I was going to climb down to meet him, but he did say once that he would follow me anywhere. 

I reach out and take his hand so that I can help him up. As soon as he finds his footing he pulls me into his arms. 

“You found me,” he says, and in three words I learn that he too never wavered. 

“I promised I would find you,” I say. “I missed you. I love you. If you’ll have me, I want to stay with you.” 

Tokiya laughs, joyous and relieved all at once. 

“Yes,” he says. “I love you. I want to be with you forever.” 

I am still unpracticed in shaping the future instead of simply watching it unfold. I am still trying to find my dream. But I know what I want. I know what and who I love. 

Tokiya is gentle even as he holds me close and vows to never let me go. Beneath the light of the full moon we seal our future together with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
